Falls

El Aran was not used to being a wanderer.

The black mare stood in the flat field on the far side of the Falls, staring at the trees that marked the border between the land she stood on and the Meadow. Despite her dark coat, she was not uncomfortable in the strong sunlight that warmed her skinny back. The day’s heat was no worse to her than a mild afternoon in the Desert, and a light breeze stirred her rough hair. The wind brought with it the sounds of birds bickering in the canopy she faced, and her ears twitched at the noise. Overhead, the occasional wisp of a cloud crossed and left slow moving shadows on the yellow-green grass at her hooves. The seer’s posture implied she was waiting for someone or something to emerge from the trees, but her eyes were unfocused, her thoughts afar.

It had been too long since she had seen Maslakhat, too long since she had set hoof on Salem, too long since she had done anything, and El Aran was considering all of these things during the pleasant summer afternoon. Her mind was working slowly toward a conclusion, and a less-than-casual observer would almost be able to see her turning each thought over in her head to review it with a nearly obsessive scrutiny.

So the seer stood, alone and apart from the general population in the Falls, starkly black against the green field and wearing the sunlight like a suit of armor while she stared at the distant trees.